Hodges smoothed a crease in her coat. “Yes, I heard from a Mr. Thomas Tanner that you were of material help to his son, Benjamin, a few days ago. Something about an escaped bull, or that was the story told in the Red Lion last night.”
Priscilla smiled. “I wondered how long it would take for the news to get around the village. Yes, a bull. His Grace and a friend of his, Lord Westray, also assisted.”
Hodges raised an eyebrow. “Well, His Grace never ceases to amaze me. I assume that it is he upon whom you have come to call?”
She hesitated. This was it, the last moment she had before she could escape Orrinspire Park with her dignity intact.
Was this the right decision? It had felt right when she had shouted down the passageway to her mother that she was visiting Charles, and her mother, naïve as she was, had evidently not thought a thing of it.
Ever since that woodland walk, she had been unable to think of anything else. Her mind had been consumed with Charles like never before, but it was tinged with thoughts of another.
Miss Frances Lloyd. This rivalry, as she had called it when they had spoken at the Donal wedding. It had all been for a most excellent cause, and at the time, she had thought herself…well, clever.
She had not seen Miss Lloyd since and had continued her antics, assuming that she had not changed her mind. Even if she did, would Priscilla stop in her pursuit of the one man she knew she…
Priscilla bit her lip as the butler waited. All she had wanted was for Charles to see her differently, to realize that he had a choice between her and Miss Lloyd. How could he, if he did not even know that she was entered in the race and was determined to win?
She swallowed, tasting the indecision in the back of her throat like bile. What was she doing? Would she regret this night?
Her fingers tightened around the book she had brought for the task. The leather felt smooth under her palms, and it was this grounding to reality that helped her speak.
“Yes,” she said far more firmly than she felt. “Charles. Is he here?”
“The master is at home,” the butler said slowly. “But…’tis a little late to call, Miss Seton, if you do not consider me impertinent in saying so.”
Priscilla raised the book like a small shield. “I found this in our library and knew immediately it did not belong there and wanted to bring it back where it belonged.”
The servant was looking a little taken aback. “My goodness, Miss Seton, I had no idea that you were a great reader.”
Priscilla swallowed. This was all going wrong. All she had wanted to do was come in and see Charles, and…well. See if she had the nerve.
“Thank you, in any case, for bringing back an Orrinshire book,” Hodges said, reaching for it.
She pulled it into her chest, protectively. “I want to give it back to Charles. He is the owner of the book, after all.”
There it was again, another raised eyebrow from Hodges. “You do not trust me, Miss Seton?”
Was it possible to feel any more wretched? But she would not get another chance like this, and she was determined. She would see him alone.
“It is not that, Hodges, you know that,” she said quietly. “It is…I feel honor-bound to place it into his hands. For all I know, this is a very important book.”
Hodges smiled. “Prodromus Florae Novae Hollandiae et Insulae Van Diemen, I see.”
Priscilla flushed. Blast it, but of course, it was the most boring book to have ever been printed. “And Charles is…?”
She allowed her question to linger, her face a picture of innocent questioning.
The butler sighed. “In the drawing room. As soon as I have put away your coat and gloves, I will take you to –”
“No need, Hodges,” Priscilla said, darting around him. “Fear not, I know the way. I have known this house for as long as I can remember.”
As Priscilla walked toward the west corridor, she looked up as she always did at the painting that never failed to avoid her eye.
Mary. Lady Mary Audley, even at the tender age of eleven showing all the beauty of her mother that promised would blossom within a few short years. Gone now, of course. A flower that never bloomed.
She was brimming with emotion as it was. The last thing she needed was to lose herself in recollections of Mary, of what could have been.
It had always been she and Mary against the world, and Charles when he was back from school. Strange to think that it had been Mary’s death, really, that had brought them together.
She passed a number of other family portraits, as familiar to her as Mary’s, along with a Rembrant and two Gainsboroughs. Only the best for the Orrinshires, Lady Audley had always said, and Priscilla smiled to think how in awe of her she had been as a child.
And then she was outside the drawing room door. Without ceremony, she opened it and walked in.
“Charles, I thought I would – oh!”
Priscilla’s eyes widened at the scene before her, the drawing room was lit by a blazing fire and several candles, and there on the settee was Charles without a jacket, without a waistcoat, and with a shirt unbuttoned to his navel.
“Charles,” she breathed. Closing the door behind her, she was grateful for the heat in the room that colored her face, removing any potential questions about why her cheeks were so red.
To think, he was just sitting here, almost…her mind could not even think of the words. When was the last time she had – she had never, never seen him so dishabille, and it was obvious by the growing smile on his face that he was enjoying her disquiet.
“Hello,” he said with a grin, sitting up slightly but not bothering to button his shirt. “This is a little late, isn’t it? Was I expecting
